The Crawleys of Downton
by Randomabiling
Summary: Modern AU:It is the modern day and Downton is the county seat of the Earl of Grantham and his family. In order to keep their ancestral home, they have turned Downton into a money-making enterprise. A beloved tourist attraction and wedding venue, the Crawleys and their employees navigate the sometimes dramatic, never dull world they find themselves in.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So, I've never written a Downton Abbey Modern AU before, but I had this idea that I just couldn't leave alone. When I was in college I worked as a tour guide and eventually staff manager for the Preservation Society of Newport. I spent my summers giving tours at The Breakers, Marble House, The Elms, etc and it was ah-mazing! Really, I look back and think how lucky I was. And the people I worked with were just as colorful and interesting as the surroundings we found ourselves in. I couldn't help but think what the Crawleys would do if they had been in Downton now. And then I thought of all the other characters that we love and tried to imagine them within the structure of the organization I worked in….and this was born.**

Overview: It is the modern day and Downton is the county seat of the Earl of Grantham and his family. In order to keep their ancestral home, they have turned Downton into a money-making enterprise. A beloved tourist attraction and wedding venue, Downton takes on its biggest challenge yet. When a television studio approaches the family to begin filming a period drama within its walls, the Crawleys and their employees navigate the sometimes dramatic, never dull world they find themselves in.

Characters

Violet, Dowager Countess: Matriarch of the family, Violet lives at the Dower House. As Robert's mother she has lots to say and is notoriously resistant to the trappings of the modern world. Offers commentary on the state of the family. She has also been known to hide behind drapery and listen to tours conducted in the house, and will not stop at interrupting tour guides who get information about the Crawleys wrong. She has made many of them cry.

Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham and President of Grantham Enterprises: The estate and Downton were falling apart when he was coming of age. His father had begun the idea of cashing in on the romantic notions of tourists by opening up the house to the public, but his inability to think large kept the family near debt. With foreclosure looming over their heads, Robert went to America with some mates the summer he graduated from university, and came back with a nineteen year old bride, Cora. Whether he loved her or her money at the time, is anyone's guess. But he is as devoted to her now as she has always been to him

Cora Crawley, Countess of Grantham and Vice President of Grantham Enterprises: Cora is in her late forties and was born into a family that soared to wealth fast and furiously in the sixties. Her father, Isadore, started out with one grocery store in Downtown Manhattan, Levinson's. His entrepreneurial expertise and business acumen assured that it didn't take long before that single store grew into an empire, with a Levinson's Grocers in almost every state in the country. Cora fell in love with Robert the moment she saw him sunbathing in Newport. With her own brand of intelligence and creativity, Cora eagerly helped Robert transform Downton into the most sought after events venue in Northern England.

Lady Mary Crawley, eldest daughter and Vice President of Commerce at Grantham Enterprises: Mary is a young woman in her late twenties, smart and sometimes ruthless. She has always expected to run Grantham Enterprises one day and takes her job very seriously. Constantly looking for ways to improve and secure Downton's future for generations to come, she brokers a deal with a television studio to begin filming in their home for a new period drama. Though she is never one to be without a date, her love life has really taken a back seat to her ambition, and no one ever seems to measure up to her standards. That is, until a feisty and handsome distant relation swoops into her life.

Lady Edith Crawley, middle daughter and Manager of Events at Downton Abbey: Edith is in her mid twenties. Since she was a teenager, Edith has been working under her mother, learning everything she can in the event management department. Taking on more and more responsibility, she now oversees the bulk of events that take place at Downton Abbey. With an eye for detail and a talent for event planning, Edith has catapulted Downton Abbey into THE place to get married for the wealthy set. If only she could step away from her role as the ultimate wedding planner and finally be the bride herself

Lady Sybil Crawley, youngest daughter and in her last year of university: Sybil plans to take the graphic design degree she is working towards and work at Grantham Enterprises as the Manager of Marketing and Advertising once she has completed university. What her family doesn't know is that she has been double majoring in design and nursing and plans on moving forward in her medical career. What they also don't know is that she has been indulging in a secret relationship with Tom Branson, Head Caretaker at Downton Abbey

Charles Carson, Director of Staff at Downton Abbey: Charles is the overall head honcho of staff at Downton Abbey. He has worked for Grantham Enterprises forever. Everything that happens behind the scenes goes through him and he can sometimes rule with an iron fist. His one soft spot is for Lady Mary...and Elsie

Elsie Hughes, Tour Guide Director at Downton Abbey: It's Elsie's job to make sure that the house opens everyday, ready for the public's eyes, and that her staff is present and making the experience as pleasurable as possible for the hundreds of people that come through the doors. She must also keep the peace between many departments and has on occasion had to wrangle the stray guide who has wandered into the family's private quarters.

Beryl Patmore, Head Chef and Director of Catering: It's Beryl's job to make sure each event is as savory and sweet as she can make it. If only controlling her lusty kitchen staff was as easy as making a meringue.

Tom Branson, Head Caretaker: Tom lives in the caretaker's cottage on the outskirts of Downton's property line. A young and handsome bachelor, he moved to England from Ireland with his father, who had found a job as Downton's caretaker in the Nineties when he was just a boy. After his passing, Tom took over the job, feeling like Downton was his second home. He had spent his childhood running after Sybil playing hide and seek. Now he still chases her, but for other purposes.

John Bates: Personal Assistant to Robert Crawley. They served together in the Gulf War and Bates is called in to take the job after the unexpected resignation of Robert's long time assistant. Bates is a mystery to the rest of the employees at Grantham Enterprises and his sudden installation as Robert's most trusted confidante causes friction and resentment in some members of the staff.

Anna Smith: Staff Manager at Downton, she reports directly to Mrs Hughes and oversees Downton's touring operation, making sure every tour runs smoothly. She is also Lady Mary's best friend.

Sarah O'Brien: Personal Assistant to Cora Crawley, Sarah has been with the Crawleys for a while. Duplicitous and known as a trouble maker, almost no one else likes her. Except Cora. And Thomas...though his allegiance is also questionable.

Thomas Barrow: Gift Shop Manager, he had hoped to leave the tourism sector behind and become Robert's PA when the position became available but that went to Bates and Thomas has a score to settle

Joseph Molesley: A history teacher at the Downton Village school, he works as a part time tour guide at Downton as well, often supplying heaps of additional knowledge to the tour guiding staff.

Phyllis Baxter: Head cashier in the gift shop, Phyllis has a budding friendship with Joe Molesley, but will a secret from her past ruin the new life she is creating?

Matthew Crawley: A lawyer in Manchester, Matthew is Robert's heir to the Earldom, a role he has little interest in fulfilling. He also has lots of ideas for Downton's future. Ideas that make Mary and Robert's head spin.

Isobel Crawley: Matthew's mother, she is the retired director of pediatric nursing at Manchester Memorial Hospital.

Dr Clarkson: The Crawley family's general practitioner, his offices are out of Downton Village Hospital.

Gwen Dawson: Part of Tom Branson's caretaking staff, she works inside the house cleaning, dusting and refreshing the common rooms after the tourists have left. She is also Sybil's best friend.

William Mason: Also a member of the caretaking staff, William has lived in Downton Village his whole life and his father worked at Downton as a florist for many years before retiring.

Daisy Robinson: works for Mrs Patmore. Is the subject of William's affections, much to her dismay.

Chapter 1

Robert dashed down the stairs while consulting his watch. He hesitated in the hall a moment, indecision rooting him to the carpet. If he wanted to catch his 9:30 train out of Leeds to London he really did have to leave, but the overpowering smell of breakfast wafted from the dining room, pulling him in its direction. Stepping more quickly, Robert thought he had time for at least one or two bites before speeding off to the Board of Trustees meeting he was keynoting. Almost at the large oak doors closing off the dining room, Robert spotted Carson briskly advancing from down the corridor.

The familiar face of his director of staff was a reminder that the few hours of solitude his family enjoyed each day was soon to be broken with the opening of the massive gates and the influx of eager tourists. At times it seemed odd, all those strangers ambling around the grounds and poking into the corners of the house, searching out some intriguing tidbit, gawking at the objects the Crawleys had been surrounded by since the days of the first Earls of Grantham. It had been this way for so long that Robert could barely remember what it was like to live in the enormous house by themselves and with only a handful of people to maintain it. Sometimes it seemed like a simpler existence, certainly more private. It didn't, however, pay the pile of bills that went into keeping a house like Downton.

"Good morning, Carson! Busy day ahead?" Robert called out to the pre-occupied gentleman.

"Lord Grantham." The booming bass of Carson's voice rumbled in the quiet hall. "It is indeed. The schedule is entirely full with coach tours. Mrs Hughes has just informed me that three of her guides have called out ill. And then there is the Crowborough wedding tomorrow to prepare for."

"Ahh," Robert replied, regretting his inquiry. Carson in a prickly mood was usually something he tried to avoid. "Oh, Carson, my new personal assistant is arriving today. John Bates. I won't be here to receive him but you can manage him, no? "

"Joy," Carson drolled. "I've never been one for fancy science, but perhaps there is something to be said for cloning."

"Carson," Robert warned with a chuckle. "It shouldn't cause you more work. Just show Mr Bates my office and have him meet with Thomas. He's been filling in anyway and can bring John up to speed."

"Hmph," Carson replied, turning to begin the day's preparations.

"May I take that?" Robert asked, pointing to the newspaper rolled under Carson's arm.

"Oh yes. Nothing good in it." Carson grumbled, handing over the paper.

"There never is, old boy. There never is." Robert patted Carson's shoulder before walking into the dining room.

Everything was as it usually was this time of day. Food laid out on the high boy table against the wall, the large Louis XIV table's extra leaves taken out for a more intimate family meal. Robert had expected to see Cora but was disappointed to see her chair empty. She hadn't been in bed when he had woken either, and he really did hate to leave before getting a chance to say goodbye.

"Good morning!" Robert said cheerfully, but neither girl in the room looked up at his entrance.

Mary methodically pierced her fruit with a fork and brought it to her mouth without once looking away from the tablet she worked on. She scrolled her finger over the screen furiously and as Robert peered over her shoulder, he recognized the multiple folders and organized tasks of their email system. Edith sat across from her, equally preoccupied by the clipboard she was scribbling on while sipping her coffee. Sybil's chair was predictably empty and Robert guessed she was doing what she had done every morning since returning home from university. Sleeping.

Robert sighed and placed the paper he carried at his seat before taking a plate from the buffet and inspecting the table's offerings. He furrowed his brow as he squinted into the serving dish. Poking a spoon at the lumpy yellow mass, Robert winced as the movement unleashed a watery stream of yoke.

"Did Mrs Patmore quit?" Robert inquired as he moved to the safer looking fruits and breads.

Edith chuckled behind him. "Mrs Patmore is already very busy with wedding prep. So Mama woke up early...and apparently wandered into the kitchen."

"I see." Robert said, sitting down between his daughters. "I had wondered where she'd gotten off to. Why isn't she here?"

"She didn't want to witness her family dying from food poisoning by her own hand, would be my guess." Mary quipped as she flipped the cover of her iPad over and took the last sip of her tea. "Shall we order out this evening? Or perhaps Granny will let us over for dinner."

Edith rolled her eyes. "Edna phoned at six this morning in a panic. The linens she ordered special just came in and they are not the same shade of blush as the flowers in the centerpieces. Mama is calling every shop within 80 kilometers of us to track down something more suitable."

"I find it hard to believe we can't accommodate her from what we have in storage." Robert said while buttering his toast.

"Believe it, Papa. Edna Braithwaite is the very definition of bridezilla." Mary interjected. "Mama really has had a time of it dealing with her."

Robert thought a moment then flipped to his newspaper. "Well, luckily your mama is very skilled at dealing with all sorts of demanding people."

"She would have to be, to have dealt with Granny all this time." Edith quipped. Robert raised an eyebrow at her before diving back into his reading.

The usual urgent headlines assaulted Robert as he thumbed through, trying to save any meatier news for the long train ride ahead of him. He smiled, seeing the printed announcement of the Duke of Crowborough's wedding to Edna Braithwaite. There was a nice mention of Downton as the backdrop to their nuptials, which were expected to be one of the highlights of the season.

Cora had put in many long hours working with Edna and her odious mother. Both women seemed to think they were putting on a wedding to rival the Cambridges, calling Cora with last minute changes and near impossible requests. So long as the money kept coming in Robert was able to grit his teeth, but he knew they were as high-maintenance as they came, and even Cora's reservoir of patience was running dry. She deserved a few nights away as a reward once the whole affair was over. Robert skimmed the travel section of the paper for inspiration when a small story, half way down the fourth page caught his attention.

 _ **Four dead in small aircraft crash off the coast of Ibiza.**_

The paper floated down from his slackened fingertips, the toast he had been chewing suddenly as dry as cardboard. Feeling around the breast pocket of his suit jacket, Robert found the phone he had slipped in there before leaving the bedroom. Fumbling it out, he saw the red line along its side indicating the silencer was still engaged. Touching the screen, the phone came alive and he only had to glance at the litany of notification alerts to know his fears were true.

Robert cleared his throat before pushing his phone back into his pocket. "If you girls will excuse me, where did you say your mother had gone off to?"

Edith looked up as Robert pushed his chair back and stood. "She's in her study."

"Right," Robert said absently before hurrying out of the library, paper in hand.

Ignoring Mary as she spoke his name, Robert traversed the familiar path from the dining room to the small sitting room that had become Cora's office some years ago. The house was waking up, the normal routine of activity underway as the caretaking staff readied Downton for the first throngs of tourists. Red velvet ropes came out from their hiding and were draped strategically to keep wandering visitors on the correct path and away from the family. Stanchions were straightened along the way to indicate the name of a room or an important artifact.

As he passed by the staff working diligently, Robert distractedly replied to their greetings. Usually he enjoyed stopping to chat with young William. Or he would stroll to the front of the house and speak with Anna about the groups scheduled to walk through. Today, he could not get away from them all fast enough. Robert was impatient to get to the sanctuary of the study tucked into the back corner of the house, away from the curious eyes that followed him down the hall.

Once he reached his destination, however, Robert found he could not cross the threshold. He lingered in the doorway, watching. Cora sat at her desk, tapping the plastic body of her computer's mouse impatiently before jogging her finger over the wheel. Oblivious to his presence, she leaned into her desk, her face inches from the phosphorous glow of the screen and squinted.

"That looks very close," Cora muttered to herself and Robert would have laughed if he had happened upon her under different circumstances.

Finally entering the room, Robert walked over to where Cora sat, soundless steps that did not break her concentration. For a moment he couldn't help but think that she looked so young still, clad in one of his white shirts and her black leggings, her long, thin legs folded underneath of her as she hunched over her desk. It was obvious she had been awakened early by Edna's phone call, throwing on whatever she could, squeezing in time to prepare their breakfast before coming up to work. The picture of her tiredly standing in the cavernous kitchen, gulping down her coffee while bungling the eggs gripped his throat. Robert felt as though he were letting her down somehow, delivering this news and he wanted to shield her from it, and all of the tangled mess that would follow.

"Do you always talk to yourself while you work?" Robert asked softly, brushing a strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes.

"Oh," Cora exclaimed, jumping in her seat. Like a schoolgirl caught doing something naughty, she quickly unfolded her legs and sat straighter. Robert touched her shoulder.

"I thought I had missed you!" Cora said, getting out of her chair and smiling. "I'm glad I didn't but you are going to be dreadfully late for your meeting."

"I've rescheduled." Cora was on her tip toes, reaching up to kiss Robert's cheek when he spoke. His words stopped her in mid-movement and she searched his face, the smile she'd had wilting.

"Robert?" She said his name, and he could hear the slight waver his actions had triggered.

Robert reached down and took her hand. "You should sit down."

Cora's eyes widened. "You're scaring me."

Robert pulled her, gently but firmly to the small sofa occupying the room and he guided them both down. Her eyes darted around the contours of his features, confused and worried as she tried to find some clue to his strange behavior. Taking the newspaper he had kept rolled up under his arm, Robert handed it to her. He watched as she slowly took it and scanned the page and he saw the moment she read the awful news. Cora's mouth slackened and her sharp intake pierced the room.

"No," Cora breathed, looking up at him. Already he could see the tears forming.

"It's James and Patrick," Robert replied, though she had seen their names in print. "They were in that plane."

"Oh God!" Cora inhaled, her hand coming up to her mouth. "Are they…". Robert nodded and her words fell away.

"This complicates...everything." Robert explained quietly.

Cora moved her head in agreement, but shock clouded her eyes as they stared over his shoulder, unfocused . "What will happen now?" She asked, eventually collecting herself enough to speak.

Robert shook his head and pulled away from her, planting his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands. His palms rubbed furiously over his hair as though he tried to rub the predicament they found themselves in out of his thoughts. His grief would come, especially for Patrick, the young man who was his heir, who had grown up running through the halls of Downton just as loudly and happily as his own girls.

The young man he had thought would be his son in law.

He would need to tell Mary. Yes, grief would come, but now, now there was just the gaping chasm of uncertainty stretching out before him. Who would he turn to now to take it all over one day? Who would inherit Cora's fortune?

"I don't know darling. I just don't know." Robert replied after falling back into the cushions of the sofa.

* * *

Cora had remained in the study after Robert had left, reassuring him that she was fine, but it had been a lie. Guilt was starting to seep up from the bottom of her gut and she felt incredibly weak, hiding in there while Robert was left to tell Mary, to start making the arrangements. He had been anxious to move after all had been said, clearly needing the distraction of the tasks ahead of him. His blue eyes had been dull, troubled and though James and Patrick's deaths were a blow they hadn't anticipated, there seemed to be something else lurking under the pall hanging over him.

Her stomach churned uncomfortably, a reminder that she had been pulled out of bed much too early by Edna Braithwaite's ridiculous demands. Pressing her hand into her belly, the light from the window caught the edges of her diamond ring and threw sparkling prisms of light onto the coffee table. After all of these years it was still a brilliant stone, but it only served to remind her that she had failed. She had made vows to Robert and had let him down.

And with Patrick's death, a renewed revulsion by her own incompetence took hold. It stoked the blame she placed on herself for never giving Robert the son he needed, the son he wanted. If she had only been stronger, they could have kept trying until they had succeeded. But fate had intervened and Sybil had been their last.

"I thought you could use a bit of tea."

Cora shook herself from her dark thoughts to see Sarah O'Brien entering the room, teacup in one hand, leather bound appointment book in the other. The woman's refusal to embrace the digital age when it came to time management was a tick Cora enjoyed teasing her about but the sight of the book now only stirred her anxiety. She was wasting time wallowing when the house would be transformed for one of the biggest weddings of the decade in twenty-four hours. How was she to get through it now, with Patrick and James's deaths overshadowing everything? Cora leaned forward to get up but Sarah waved her back down, handing her the steaming cup.

"Lord Grantham informed me of what happened. What a tragedy." Sarah sighed as she carefully took a seat beside her.

Cora glanced over the rim of her cup and hummed. "Yes, it's very sad."

"Well," Sarah declared, opening up her planner. "We need to shift around some of these appointments."

"Oh, I don't know what is happening yet, Sarah. It seems premature to cancel anything before plans have been made." Cora said, looking over the woman's shoulder. Sarah's precise and small penmanship was etched into the blocks on the calendar, each day seeming more full than the one before it. Cora let out a breath, her shoulders slumping. The sheer bulk of her schedule, usually something that invigorated her, gave her purpose, suddenly felt like an albatross hanging from her neck.

"There is plenty here that can be shifted to Edith." Sarah countered. "Now I won't hear an argument. You've taken too much on as it is this summer."

Cora huffed weakly. "I like the work."

Sarah tsked in response before plunging into the calendar on her lap. Sometimes Cora wondered who the boss was and who the employee when it came to Sarah O'Brien. But Cora enjoyed the woman's wit and tenacity, traits she didn't see in herself and Sarah was excellent at her job. Cora was sure she would be lost without her.

Sarah set to work moving appointments around while Cora looked on, drinking her tea and thinking. Only marginally paying attention to Sarah's suggestions, she nodded her head without really knowing what she agreed to, too caught up in the worries filling her mind. At the end, thoughts of her oldest daughter persisted. Mary would be most affected by what had happened. Now that the initial shock had worn off, Cora was eager to speak with her.

Placing her teacup on the small table by the sofa, Cora rose to her feet. Her movement shook Sarah from her concentration and the woman looked up at her with confusion.

"I leave you to make sense of it all, Sarah. I must speak with Mary." Cora said.

"It must be a very difficult thing for Lady Mary." Sarah said, her words measured as she peered up at Cora and shook her head slowly. Something about the thin line of Sarah's lips, the hood of her eyelids that hid the steely probe directed at her made Cora shutter. Quickly she wiped away any of the emotions she often let pass over her face.

"Yes, well. If you'll excuse me." Cora stammered before hurrying from the room.

Forgetting herself, and the time of day, Cora's determined steps brought her right into the middle of a large group tour gathering in the great hall. She stopped short, attempting to back pedal her progress without being seen, but the familiar form of her mother in law emerged from the crowd, parting the sea of strangers like a modern day Moses. When Violet saw her, she lifted the head of her cane up to catch her attention, the silver filagree glittering in the filtered sunlight, and Cora's stomach flipped. By the severe set of her jaw, and the speed with which she moved, it was evident she had heard about James and Patrick.

Violet was standing in front of her in no time, jutting her cheek out. Cora placed the obligatory kiss upon it. "Hello, Mama." Her greeting was quiet.

"Where can we talk?" Violet questioned.

"Ms O'Brien is in my study. Let's go to the small library." Cora suggested, touching Violet's elbow.

The tip-tap of Violet's cane slapping the marble floor as she followed behind Cora echoed in the hall and sent a hush over the tourists waiting to see the house. Their eyes followed them and Cora unhitched the rope cordoning off the room to let Violet pass. Placing the latch back, she then shut the door and let out the breath she had held.

Violet immediately sat on one of the small benches against the windows, eyes steady on Cora. Cora swallowed, waiting for her mother in law to speak first. Growing impatient, Violet lifted her eyes to the ceiling before rolling them back again and sighing.

"How has Mary taken the news?" Violet inquired and Cora shrugged.

"Robert was speaking with her. I was on my way to find her when you arrived." Cora hinted, hoping the woman would release her and let her get back to her original intention.

Violet did not move from her seat. "You do realize the implications now."

Cora slowly lowered herself into Robert's desk chair. "I don't know that she was really going to marry him anyway."

Violet closed her eyes and waved her hand, agitated. "That makes no difference. Even if they hadn't, at least Patrick understood the importance of Grantham Enterprises and Downton."

Cora crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't understand."

Violet pursed her lips. "Mary will run Grantham Enterprises one day. Now someone else will eventually inherit Downton and your fortune that's entailed to it. Patrick would have been willing to work with her. But do you think some distant cousin is going to let Mary make money off of his home?"

A hiccup of bile rose in Cora's throat. "I didn't think…".

"The Crawleys will be out of Downton and without it there will _be_ no Grantham Enterprises." Violet punctuated her point with a jab of her cane on the parquet floor. "Mary will lose everything except for the little money she'll be able to retain from the business. Not to speak of Edith and Sybil."

Cora stood and paced the small area, a room that suddenly felt two times smaller as she wore a path in its length. Robert had poured everything into building Grantham Enterprises and preserving Downton. It had all been for some future generation, so that the Crawleys might endure. And now that future was unknown, some faceless adversary that would take everything. Shallow breaths teased her lungs and Cora sat again, fatigued to her bone. She met Violet's stare, and she didn't need to hear Violet's inner thoughts to know what the woman wanted to say. It was written in the narrow squint of her eyes. It was written in the ache of her own heart. Blame. Disappointment. Broken.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thank you everyone who has reviewed this story, followed it or favorited it so far! I hope you enjoy this next chapter.**

Charles Carson took care not to step on the floor boards that typically protested the most, loathe to give away that he was snooping just outside the door. Generally, he didn't have the stomach for espionage and would have left immediately upon finding the small library in use, but when he heard the countess's voice, an uncharacteristic fit of curiosity took over, and he had leaned closer.

The dowager's distinctly pitched tones answered and immediately he feared some trouble had been caused, trouble involving a member of his staff. There had been no complaints lately, but he rarely made it through a season without having to deliver a serious reprimand, at times even a dismissal, because someone had insulted the dowager's ideas of how the house should be represented. And though Charles had been working at Downton since he was a young man and the Dowager the mistress, her presence still inspired a certain unease.

What Charles had expected to hear was far more different than what he did. Both Mr. Crawleys, dead.

Being too dumbstruck to move at first, it was only the arrival of an especially noisy bus-full of American tourists that pushed him to leave his post and retreat to the back offices. With head down and steps quick, Charles passed by his own door to stop at the third office diagonal from his. His fist faltered in the air, poised to knock but not moving. Impulse had driven him there, but now that he was just outside of her office, Charles was unsure.

"Mr. Carson?" Tom Branson came around the corner, dressed in the familiar maroon polo shirt and khakis of the caretaker's uniform. Charles nodded to the young man before clobbering the door with his knuckles, the tips of his ears burning.

"Come in," Mrs. Hughes called from within the office and Charles went in as quickly as he could.

"Ahh Mr. Carson!" Mrs. Hughes said, looking up from her desk, her glasses slipping down the slope of her nose.

Charles stood, clasping and unclasping his hands behind his back. He looked around the tidy office that belonged to Mrs. Hughes. They had shared many a secret commentary within its walls, forming a friendship over the years. That she would be the first one he would go to after hearing what he had seemed natural.

"Are you alright, Mr. Carson? You look as though you've seen a ghost?" Mrs. Hughes rose from her chair and came around from her desk. Charles waved her off, moving to the leather chair near a small tea table and slowly lowering into it.

"I've had quite a shock, I must admit." Charles said eventually. Mrs. Hughes took the seat next to him, nodding encouragingly.

"Mr. James and Mr. Patrick are dead." Charles announced grimly.

Mrs. Hughes stared at him blankly before her brows drew together. "What? How?"

"Apparently a plane crash on holiday." Charles said before pouring them both some tea.

Mrs. Hughes shifted in her seat to accept the hot cup. She blew the liquid a few times before taking a tentative sip.

"I don't know what to say," Mrs. Hughes admitted.

Charles rubbed his palms over his knees, the stiff cotton of his suit pants abrasive against his flesh. "I've known Patrick since he was a small boy. His favorite game was hiding. We had to shut the house down for an entire hour once, looking for him. And then we had to call the fire department, once we found him."

Mrs. Hughes chuckled sadly. "Where was he?"

Charles smiled briefly, his thick eyebrows going up into the crown of his thick hair. "Stuck in the old dumbwaiter!"

The laughter died between them and Mrs. Hughes raised her cup to her lips once more. "It must make things for Lady Mary a little uncertain."

The drawn out syllables of Lady Mary's name in Mrs. Hughes deliberate brogue poked at Charles and he grew defensive.

"Well, I'm sure she is distraught!" Charles sputtered.

"But not for the reasons she should be," Mrs. Hughes muttered and Charles twisted in his chair to study her.

"And pray tell, what do you mean?" Charles asked.

"I only mean she didn't love the poor man, it was as plain as day to anyone with a pair of eyes." Mrs. Hughes sighed deeply.

"Well, I don't know that it was any of our business." Charles bit back.

"Oh let's not fight. I shouldn't have been flip." Mrs. Hughes conceded and Charles felt some of the tension ease out of his back.

They both fell quiet, sitting with their thoughts, until Mrs. Hughes broke the silence. "What will they do now? Who will be the heir?"

Charles shook his head slowly. "I don't know, Mrs. Hughes. I've only ever been aware of Mr. James and Mr. Patrick. Whoever it is, he's going to throw everything into chaos."

Mrs. Hughes scoffed gently. "Well, it's not the apocalypse just yet, Mr. Carson."

"Joke all you want," Mr. Carson rebuffed. "But mark my words, things will change around here right quick."

Mrs. Hughes put her cup down, and Charles watched with fascination as her hand made it's way over to where his rested. She patted it, gave his fingers a squeeze and then snatced her hand away. Charles couldn't feel his feet.

"Not all change is bad, Mr. Carson." Mrs. Hughes said softly, smirking as she ducked her head down and directed her gaze into her lap.

With his mouth suddenly parched and his tongue sticking to his palette, Charles couldn't form a response. He could only sit and stare at her, while Mrs. Hughes avoided his eyes. The telephone on her desk came to life, its ring piercing the air and Mrs. Hughes shot out of her seat to answer it. Charles mumbled his goodbyes and hurried from her office, clutching the hand she had touched close to his chest.

* * *

As Robert rounded the corner of the crushed stone path, Downton loomed up from the landscape, dwarfing the many visitors traversing its exterior. The impressive stone facade of his home never failed to stir up ancestral pride and Robert clung to that more than ever on this particularly sunny summer afternoon. He had needed a walk after breaking the news of Patrick and James's deaths to the girls. Edith had seemed especially devastated, while Mary, ever the conundrum, was typically impassive. Darling Sybil had offered up comfort with one of her enthusiastic hugs, a gesture passed down to her through Cora's DNA. Crawleys did not embrace with such intensity.

After leaving them, Robert had gone back to Cora's study, only to find Ms O'Brien plotting. Or at least, that was what he suspected. He could never see what Cora found attractive in that woman, for her very presence made his hair stand on end. Quickly excusing himself, Robert had retreated to the only place that offered him unfettered privacy and time to stew in his own thoughts: the many winding paths and hidden gardens at Downton. Since his boyhood, Robert had made tourist dodging an artform and so on his walks he always managed to find the untrodden path.

The walk had been refreshing and Robert had felt a little steadier. With the house in view once again, Robert left behind his solitude, however, joining the dozens of people who gawked at his home. He stopped to watch as a young boy broke away from his family, chasing the small drone he flew over the cascading lawn. Robert couldn't help his laughter as the boy made the tiny machine zip up and down in the sky, turning flips and zigzagging over other people's heads.

"God save us, we are under attack."

The voice of his mother jolted Robert and he turned to his side to find her standing there, a look of horror on her face at the drone careening toward them. She ducked behind him as it buzzed by.

"It's just a toy Mama." Robert said.

Violet straightened the curls of her set white hair with agitation, though not one strand had been displaced. "You say that now. One day you will wake up to find this place taken over by those robots, like that movie...with that Austrian fellow."

"Terminator?" Robert offered teasingly.

"That's quite fine that you can have a laugh at my expense. At a time like this." Violet huffed and Robert's grin faded.

"So you've heard." Though Robert had not really thought otherwise. His mother always managed to know everything.

"Of course I have! I was just speaking to Cora…"

"I hope you didn't upset her." Robert interjected with seriousness. "She's taken it very hard. Harder than I would have expected."

"And no wonder!" Violet snapped. "The business with the entail is now up for debate again."

Robert sighed. "Please tell me you did not get that notion into her head. Because you know that it is not up for debate. It is rock solid."

Violet followed him as he advanced toward Downton, easily able to match his steps despite her cane. "How can you say this, Robert? This is your daughter we are talking about. Cora's fortune...".

Robert held up his hand. "It's not really hers anymore, is it? And hasn't been for some time. You know the terms as well as I. It's tied to the estate, which is tied to the title."

Violet stopped and took hold of Robert's arm. "You'll think this harsher than I intend, but lose the money now and what was the point of you peculiar marriage anyway?"

Robert looked down at his mother, expecting to see her gloating. It was no secret that she had been stunned and angry almost thirty years prior, when he had left for America a bachelor and came home with a fiancee. She had done everything in her power to dissuade him from marrying Cora. His father had been more in favor, once Robert divulged the sum of money she had inherited. An inheritance that would come into her hands shortly after their wedding.

Yes, he had convinced his family it was all about the money, money they desperately needed to save Downton and that story had stuck. But only he and Cora had known the true extent of their reasons for rushing the nuptials, a truth they had kept hidden from everyone then, and now. It had been so long since he had ventured to think about those days, and doing so now only heightened his sadness.

Sighing, Robert gently pulled his arm from his mother's grip. "Please don't throw that in my face. Would it go beyond reasonable thought to say she has made me very happy."

Violet shook her head. "But it isn't why you married. If you don't care about your wife's money, or or Mary, then how about Downton?"

Robert furrowed his brow, the heat of the day mingling with the heat percolating under his skin at Violet's insinuations. "How can you ask that? I've given my life to Downton. There will be no Downton if the money does not go with it."

Violet was silent a moment, looking out at the house. She turned to Robert, straightening her spine, a move that only seemed to lengthen her resolve and Robert took a step back, unsure.

"Since you will do nothing, then Cora and I will smash the entail. In its entirety. Mary will get the estate _and_ the money." And with that Violet pivoted gracefully and sauntered to where her driver waited.

Robert stood, planted, the enormity of the day sapping all of his energy. He wished to retreat back into the house and find an old dressing room to hide in. Instead, the telephone in his pocket vibrated against his skin. Robert pulled the device out to see text alert on its screen from George Murray. _Call me._

* * *

Mary sat at her vanity, the damp cloth in her hands momentarily forgotten as she stared at her reflection. Her talk hours before with Robert replayed in her mind, the deaths of her cousins a surreality that was only just beginning to change shape into a fact. That she didn't feel anything more substantial than a twinge of sorrow made Mary more unhappy than Patrick's actual passing. For she should be grief-sodden, shouldn't she? Her cousin, her childhood playmate, her possible fiance had passed and all Mary could muster was...a weighty indifference.

No, what had brought on the fiery lick of her emotions had not been death, but business. She had overhead Cora and Violet in the library. Everything she had worked for would be gone one day, depending on the whim of some distant relative. Mary had resigned herself long ago that she would not get Downton or her mother's fortune. It had been a bitter realization. No one cared for Downton as much as she, save her father perhaps. The entire issue of inheritance was not fair at all, but at least she had comforted herself with running Grantham Enterprises, and Patrick would have been a sympathetic partner.

Patrick. Poor, darling Patrick. Mary was sure he had concocted the marriage idea out of some sense of responsibility, some misplaced guilt for taking what should rightfully be hers. Between them there had never been anything resembling deep love, nothing more, really, than an amiable affection. Unlike her sisters, however, Mary had no romantic delusions about marriage. All the boys who had ever shown interest were truly only after one thing, money. Once they learned she wouldn't actually get any, they left like a horse out of the gate.

Her passion was reserved for her family's company. It was the one thing she could control.

A light knock to the bedroom door stirred Mary from her musings and she called out to whoever stood outside, while taking up her cloth again and vigorously scrubbing the rest of the make-up off of her face. She saw Sybil's silhouette appear from the gap in the door and Mary released a breath, glad to see her youngest sister. Sybil caught her eyes in the mirror and smiled wanly before entering, pulling a red eyed Edith behind her. Mary groaned.

"I hope we aren't interrupting." Sybil said before letting go of Edith and sitting on Mary's bed, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around her legs. Edith looked around the room, almost at a loss as to what to do. The affected display only stoked Mary's ire.

Deciding to ignore Edith, Mary shook her head. "I wasn't doing anything. Not really anyway." Mary put the cloth down and started undoing the clips holding up the twisted tendrils of her hair.

Sybil rested her chin on her kneecaps, blinking at Mary. "It feels so weird, what's happened."

Mary folded her hands in her lap and swiveled around in her round chair, facing her sister. Sybil was so young. Not just in age but in experience. She was sheltered in a way that Edith and Mary were not, blissfully living in a world of her own imagining and none of them cruel-hearted enough to bring her back to reality. Watching as unshed tears sprung up in Sybil's eyes, Mary had to look away. Taking her downward look as a testament to grief, Sybil jumped up from her spot and squeezed Mary into a tight embrace.

"This must be so awful for you." Sybil whispered. Mary wished she could have passed her silence off as agreement, but the involuntary stiffness that twinged her muscles was felt by Sybil, who disentangled herself, searching Mary's face.

Mary shrugged from Sybil's grip. "Oddly enough, it isn't."

Edith gasped as Mary turned her back on Sybil, walking to her armour and opening its ornately carved doors. Distractedly, she rummaged around the draw for her pajamas, trying not to think of Patrick's sweetly ordinary face. Perhaps she would have married him, it was a sure thing after all, and she liked sure things. He would have been made supremely unhappy by her lack of affection, but he would have given it a full effort.

"I know you're sad about Patrick, no matter what you say." Sybil declared, but who she was trying to convince more, Mary could not tell.

Mary turned, looking at Sybil directly. "You are a dear, but I'm not as sad as I should be. And that makes me sad."

Edith stomped her fists into her thighs. "You are cruel and unfeeling!" Before anyone could reply, she ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Mary raised an eyebrow. "You would have thought she was meant to marry him."

"Don't be mean." Sybil scolded. "Edith is very upset."

Mary let out a prolonged breath. "Edith is always upset. She doesn't know any other way of being."

The two sisters fell into silence, the heaviness of Sybil's eyes searching her face made Mary uncomfortable but she refused to look away, or take back what she said. With her chin tilted out and gaze steady, Mary did not move. Only a timid knock on the door broke the tension.

"What is this, King's Cross station?" Mary grumbled as the door opened slowly. Cora peaked around it. "Thank you for waiting until I answered." Mary muttered as Cora came into the room.

"Mama," Sybil greeted warmly.

Cora smiled at her youngest. "Should I come back?"

"No, no," Sybil reassured, moving toward her mother. She leaned in to kiss Cora's cheek. "I was just leaving."

"Goodnight, darling." Cora cooed as Sybil left the room.

Mary busied herself at the vanity, rearranging the jewelry she had laid on the marble table. Behind her Cora's footsteps fell softly on the carpet and the springs of the mattress squeaked as Cora sat on her bed. Still Mary would not turn.

"You were unusually quiet at dinner," Cora offered. "I know this must all be quite a shock for you."

Mary whirled around. "I heard you," she hissed.

Cora leaned back, confusion marring her face. "I don't know what-".

"I heard you with Granny." Mary said, enunciating each word slowly, deliberately. Cora's features fell.

"Mary-".

"It isn't fair!" Mary cried. "How can any of this be fair?!" Mary sank into her vanity chair, her eyes stinging painfully, but she held her tears at bay.

Cora lurched up and came to kneel in front of her, taking Mary's hands. "Granny and I are going to convince Papa to smash the entail."

Mary's breath caught in her chest, tangling up with the cautious hope Cora's words had created. "Really? Can such a thing even be done?"

Cora shook her head. "I don't know, but we are going to try."

Mary sniffed. "And what of the new heir?"

Cora squeezed her hands. "The new heir isn't any of my concern. You are. Grantham Enterprises is."


End file.
